Summer Promise (10 page)

“Daniel,” Sarah protested, and even from a distance Miriam could hear the laughter in her sister's voice. “You're going too fast. Slow down!”

“It's you who should hurry up,” Daniel replied, his tone both amused and exasperated. “The sooner we get back to the house, the sooner you can get cleaned up. Though I do not understand why you want to wear such ridiculous footwear in the first place.”

“Because . . .” Sarah began.

She waved the shoe she was carrying for emphasis. Muck from the bottom of the shoe went flying. Daniel jerked back, threatening to tug them both off balance. Sarah tightened her hold, pulling him back toward her even as she laughed once more. And suddenly, incredibly, Daniel began to laugh as well. Miriam's quiet and reserved husband was walking across their yard with his arm around her sister, laughing.

Like a love-struck schoolboy,
Miriam thought. Pain, clean and swift as the stroke of a knife, sliced through Miriam's heart.

“Oh, Miriam.” As if from a great distance, Miriam heard her sister's voice. At the sound of Miriam's name, Daniel's head swiveled in her direction. His arm dropped away from Sarah. He took a single step back and, this time, Sarah released her hold. She and Daniel were separate once more. But Miriam knew that she would see the image from this evening forever. It had been burned into her mind, into her heart. And at that moment, Miriam was seized by a desire so powerful her body quivered with it.

I must not let them know.

Neither Daniel nor Sarah must ever know the pain this moment had brought to Miriam, this moment that was the living confirmation of all her fears and the death of all her hopes. She had kept her fears a secret, kept them to herself for all these years. Surely she was strong enough to keep them locked inside her now.

She smiled.

“Looks like you're having some trouble,” she said. And at the sound of her own voice, so bright and natural, Miriam felt a quick surge of relief. She clung to it, the life raft that would save her from slipping beneath the deep water of her pain.

“I know. Can you believe it?” Sarah said, precisely as if there was nothing wrong at all. Nothing unusual about walking across the yard with her arms around her sister's husband. “I went out to the barn to see the horses and I just wasn't thinking and I . . .” She made as if to wave the shoe once more.

“Sarah,” Daniel said in a low voice.

Sarah turned to look at Daniel. For the first time, she seemed to realize that he was no longer right by her side. She took in his sober, almost frowning expression.

“What?” she said. Her glance went from Miriam to Daniel and back again, as if finally taking in the fact that Miriam was smiling but Daniel was not. “What's happened?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”

“Of course not,” Miriam answered quickly. Too quickly, she thought. But suddenly it seemed to her she could not bear to hear what Daniel would answer. Could not bear to know whether or not he
could
answer. Did he, too, think that there was nothing wrong? Nothing wrong with walking across the yard with his arms around Sarah when the only time he touched Miriam was in their bedroom at night.

“I came out because I thought I heard a mockingbird singing,” Miriam lied. But she had always loved mockingbirds, and both her husband and her sister knew that. Now she wondered if it was because the mockingbird was so skilled at disguising its true nature, a skill
she
was becoming quite practiced at. Miriam had never thought of herself as a dishonest person, but here she was, lying to two of the people she loved best.

She tilted her head toward the house. “I'd better get back and get the supper dishes taken care of. I can bring you some rags for those shoes, if you like.”

“That's all right,” Sarah said. “It's my mess. I can clean it up myself. After that, I'll come help with the washing up.”

No!
Miriam wanted to cry out. It seemed to her that her whole body ached suddenly with the need to shout. To tell Sarah, once and for all, that she did not need her help. Miriam might have lost Daniel, but she still had this much. She could care for her own home.

And still Daniel said nothing.
Did
nothing. No. That was not quite right, Miriam thought. He had taken Sarah's arm. He had spoken Sarah's name. Sarah's, not Miriam's. He had not spoken the name of his wife. He had taken a step away from Sarah, but not one single step toward Miriam. Instead, Daniel had simply continued to stand, arms hanging loosely by his sides, in the middle of the yard.

“You don't have to do that,” she said with a brittle laugh, so different from Sarah's open and spontaneous one. “I can manage on my own. You should stay outdoors. It really is a lovely night. There won't be many like this while you're here.”

And soon,
Miriam thought as she turned away,
soon you will be gone. Back to San Francisco. Back where you belong.

What life would be like then, Miriam simply could not bear to contemplate. Her back ramrod straight, she crossed the yard and went back inside the house.

Nine

T
he days that followed were some of the most beautiful Miriam could ever remember. Summer was in full swing now with July rolling to a close. The days were lush and warm. Miriam could see summer's promise being fulfilled in every direction. Corn stood high in the fields, the tall green stalks swaying with the breeze, their tasseled heads glinting in the sunshine. New-mown hay ripened in fat, round rolls. The rosebushes Miriam grew for the hips they would create in the autumn were a fluttering mass of pink and white blossoms as they formed one long border of her kitchen garden. The scent of the flowers was so potent, Miriam could smell it even when she was indoors.

And as for the farm stand, it bustled. That was really the only way to describe it, Miriam thought as she threw open the front doors. She had walked down to the stand earlier than usual this morning, eager to have a few moments alone. Were there more tourists than usual on the road this year? Were the harvests particularly fine so that everyone had more to bring her than usual? Or were her friends and neighbors taking extra care to support the Stony Field Farm Stand now that Miriam's father was gone? Miriam genuinely did not know. All she knew was that, between running the farm stand and running the house, Miriam was busy from morning 'til night.

She had never in her life been so grateful for hard work. There were days when it seemed to Miriam that the tasks that made up her day-to-day life were the only things she truly understood anymore. The only moments when she felt she knew the way the world worked, when she could clearly see her own place in it, when she understood who she herself was.

Miriam knew how to iron her
kapps
so that the pleats stayed stiff and neat. She knew just how long the bread should rise. She knew so many different ways to put up fruits, vegetables, and meats that she had long since ceased to count them all. In the days that had followed the encounter with Sarah and Daniel in the yard outside the barn, Miriam immersed herself in the day-to-day tasks that kept her so busy. She had always found pleasure in even the simplest of them, but now it seemed to her that those tasks kept her safe as well.

They were her protection against the pain that seemed to dog her every step, overtaking her the moment she stopped moving, snatching at whatever peace of mind she had won. Her chores were her shield against the dizziness that would appear from out of nowhere, so sudden and powerful that Miriam would have to stop whatever she was doing and sit down.

Never had she felt as alone as she did in those moments, so weak, so unlike herself. The space between her and Daniel yawned in front of her, so wide and deep that it seemed to Miriam that she could no longer see Daniel across it. Those moments were the very worst of all. For in them, Miriam felt a new fear, one that seemed determined to break her already fractured heart: that the time for understanding between her and Daniel was gone forever. It was irretrievably lost.

Sometimes, in the evenings, Miriam would lift her head from whatever she was doing to find Daniel's gaze upon her, his expression unreadable. But even in the moments they had alone—at the breakfast table in the early morning, in their room at night—not once had Daniel spoken. Did this mean that he had nothing to say to her? Miriam wondered. Or was it just the opposite? Did he want to say too much?

And always, always, there was Sarah. Even when she wasn't in the room, it seemed to Miriam that her sister was present, hovering like a shadow at Daniel's side. Though Sarah spending time with Daniel was hardly a trick of Miriam's imagination. She saw them together often enough. There were days when it seemed to Miriam that she saw Sarah and Daniel together every time she turned around.

She would look up from preparing dinner to see Sarah and Daniel coming across the fields together, as if Sarah had finished up her own work at the farm stand and then gone to meet Daniel for the express purpose of walking him home. In the evenings after supper, they often worked a jigsaw puzzle, their heads close together as they bent to study the shapes of the pieces. One night, Daniel fetched a pencil and paper, and he and Sarah worked all evening on a design for an arbor she was hoping her young gardeners might build after her return to San Francisco.

There was only one place where Miriam was certain she would never find Sarah, and that was the bedroom Miriam and Daniel shared. But Miriam feared bringing up the topic of Daniel's feelings for her sister in this room. She feared it with every fiber of her being. The kitchen might be the heart of the house, but the room shared by a husband and wife provided its lifeblood. For it was here that a wife and husband were most intimate, where they shared things between themselves alone. In this room, future generations would be created.

But the moment Miriam spoke Sarah's name aloud in that special place, Miriam and Daniel would no longer be alone. Sarah would be with them, even there, leaving Miriam with no place left in all the world where she could have Daniel all to herself.

The possibility that her fears were the truth—and Daniel really did love Sarah—was like a mirror held up to the sun, too painfully bright for Miriam to look upon.

“Miriam?”

At the sound of her own name, Miriam jumped and spun around. Leah stood hesitating just inside the open doors of the farm stand, balanced on the balls of her feet, as if uncertain whether to step forward or back.

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” she went on at once. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

“It is my fault,” Miriam said. “I got lost in my own thoughts. But you're here so early, Leah. Has something happened? Is something wrong?”

“Oh, Miriam,” Leah sobbed out.

Miriam forgot her own problems in an instant. Quickly, she hurried to the younger woman's side.

“Gracious, Leah, what is it?” she asked. She put her hands on Leah's shoulders and peered down into her face. It was clear that Leah was, and had been, crying. “Has there been an accident? Is Rachel or John unwell?”

“No, no, it's nothing like that,” Leah said. She scrubbed at her damp cheeks with impatient fingers. “It may sound foolish, but . . . I broke a lamp while I was dusting this morning. I was thinking about something else and I . . .” She choked back another sob. “Aenti Rachel would never say it is her favorite, but I know she treasured it. She has had it since she married Onkel John. I would like to go into town to replace it, though I know whatever I find won't be the same. And you probably think I'm silly for making such a fuss over just a lamp.”

“Of course I don't think that,” Miriam said. “And of course you must go at once. We're never very busy first thing in the morning, and the stores should be open by the time you get to town. Take your time, Leah. Make sure you are thoughtful in what you decide. That will make your aunt feel better.”

Leah gave a shaky laugh. “
Danki
, Miriam. You really do sound just like her sometimes.”

Miriam gave Leah a quick hug, and then let her go. “Off with you, now. Stop and show me what you picked out before you go home.”

“I will,” Leah promised.

She turned and dashed back across the road, sprinting for home. Miriam turned back to the farm stand with a smile. There was nothing like somebody else's troubles to help you forget your own, she thought, even when those troubles were small. Though they hadn't seemed small to Leah!

It was time to get out the tables and ready the farm stand for the day, and unless Eli or Sarah showed up soon, it looked as if Miriam would be performing that task herself.

She went back inside, determined to get the display tables out front without dropping anything on her foot this time.

* * *

“Oh,
thank you
, Mr. Wilson,” Leah breathed. “You are right. That is the perfect one. It's almost like the old one, isn't it?”

“Pretty close,” Angus Wilson said. He owned the hardware store in town. It was one of the biggest stores on the main street, catering to both Amish and
Englisch
customers. “Do you know, I actually remember that lamp you're talking about? It was one of the most popular styles, for quite a while.”

“Why would they change it if everybody liked it so much?” Leah asked.

Angus Wilson smiled. “That's a very good question, young lady,” he said. “And I'm sorry to say it's one I don't have a good answer for. Now, you wait right there and I'll go get one that's all boxed up for you.”

“Danki
, Mr. Wilson,” Leah said.

While she waited, she strolled around a bit. Leah loved the hardware store. Loved the way the things that pretty much only Plain folk would use sat right next to the things the
Englisch
preferred. And then there were the things that suited both equally well. She paused in front of one of the big storefront windows, admiring the display. Across the street, she saw a young Plain man come out of Tompkins Lumber. He set off down the street, his gait a little slow and halting.

But surely that is Eli!
Leah thought.

She shifted position, angling for a better view.
Ja
, it was definitely Eli. What on earth was he doing in town when he was supposed to be at the farm stand? Miriam hadn't said anything about Eli also coming into town. He turned the corner and Leah lost sight of him.

“Here we go, Leah.” Mr. Wilson's voice sounded behind her. “All boxed up safe and sound. You be sure to give your aunt and uncle my best.”

“I will, Mr. Wilson,” Leah promised as she turned away from the window. “Thank you again for all your help.”

The new lamp safely in hand, Leah left the store. She looked up ahead to try to see Eli, but there was no sign of him.
I shouldn't care,
Leah thought to herself—but what was Eli doing in town? What was he up to?

* * *

The road from town was long and straight, an easy ride punctuated by gentle hills and stretches of flat land. Leah had always enjoyed the route between town and her
aenti
and
onkel
's home. The sound of the horse's hooves was brisk and cheerful against the hard surface of the roadway. At this time of day, still fairly early, there were mostly farm vehicles, with Plain folk running errands or going to their fields. Tractors, buggies, and farm vehicles drawn by horses and mules traveled along the road in a stream of slow-moving but steady traffic.

Leah had just passed the silo that marked the end of the outskirts of town and the start of open country when she saw a figure walking by the side of the road. Even if she hadn't seen him leaving Tompkins Lumber Supply, Leah would have known that it was Eli. The walker's gait was ever so slightly uneven, favoring the right leg.

Why hadn't he driven to town? Leah wondered.

Eli's leg was much better, so much so that Victor no longer drove his younger brother to work at the farm stand. But as far as she could remember, Leah didn't think she had ever seen Eli drive. She pulled back gently on the reins, slowing the buggy to a walk. Eli turned.

“Would you like a ride?” Leah offered.

Eli hesitated and, for a split second, Leah thought he would decline. Then he gave a quick nod.

“
Danki
,” he said.

Leah guided the buggy onto the shoulder of the road and stopped. Eli swung up and settled in beside her. Leah looked back over her shoulder to make sure the way was clear. Then she chirruped to the horse and pulled back onto the road. She and Eli drove in silence for several moments. Leah wanted to ask him why he was in town, but she didn't want to appear to be all that interested. After a few more minutes, Leah was wondering if Eli intended to remain silent all the way back to the farm stand. But then he spoke.

“
Danki
,” he said once more. “It is very nice of you to stop for me.”

“Some people think I'm very nice,” Leah commented. She kept her eyes straight ahead, looking between the horse's ears at the stretch of road directly in front of her.

“Do they?” Eli inquired.

“Oh,
ja
, they do,” Leah said. “I could draw up a list, if you like.”

“I don't think that will be necessary,” Eli said pleasantly. “I trust you.”

“Do you, now?”

Before Eli could answer, Leah clicked her tongue to the horse, encouraging the mare to pick up her pace as they climbed a small hill. As they came back down, she shot a quick glance at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Would you like to know something?” he asked.

“If you would like to tell me.”

“The answer to your question is yes. I believe I do trust you.”

“I can't think why,” Leah commented. “Most of the time, we don't even like each other very much.”

“To tell you the truth, neither can I.”

All of a sudden, Leah laughed. A fraction of a second later, Eli laughed, too, the sound full-throated and surprised.

“Thank goodness we got
that
straightened out,” Leah said. She guided the horse down another hill.